


A Mother

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Mother-Son Relationship, Post-Episode: s07e02 The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 19:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17107046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: When Mulder's mother comes for a visit, Scully feels the need to protect him.





	A Mother

The first thing they do is sleep for days It’s not a conscious choice; both too weak to fight exhaustion any longer. His apartment has become their sanctuary. Scully can’t fathom leaving him alone. She wants to be here, with him, and there’s nothing stopping her.

It’s the weekend, though days don’t seem to matter. They’re sleepy, curled up in bed together. But before sleep takes her, Scully looks over at Mulder, the bandage on his head. His mouth is half open, his breathing strong and deep. I almost lost you, she thinks and moves closer to him. Her bones are weary, sing out in pain. She holds his hand when she closes her burning eyes. I almost lost you, Scully, she hears him answer in her mind and she smiles.

In the morning, they don’t talk. Not about what happened, anyway. Not his operation, his mind reading or anything of importance. Mulder rubs his eyes and promises her that he’s not in pain.

“Easy,” Scully says with a hand on his chest when he tries to get up. The strong drum of his heart calming her own.

“Work?” The same question every morning.

“Not yet, Mulder. You’re not ready.” She replies each time. He sighs, snuggles closer. She lets him and sometimes, if she dares, she touches his head with tender, careful fingers. He closes his eyes, leans into her and smiles. She cherishes these moments, collects them like souvenirs.

“Tell me a story.” She started this game as a mental exercise for Mulder. Now she just wants to hear his voice, hear him talk about his childhood before it went sour.

“Did I ever tell you that we used to play board games as a family?” Scully shakes her head. “We did. All four of us. When Samantha was too little, she would play with one us and be part of the team. No one was ever left out.” Mulder is smiling, looking into the past. But he doesn’t keep talking. Scully tries to see the Mulder family happy together and can’t. She’s never met his father, has only ever seen or heard of Samantha from Mulder. And then there’s his mother.

“You’re angry.” Mulder can no longer read minds; at least that’s what he says. But he picks up on emotions so easily these days, especially hers. She is still getting used to it.

“No, I’m not. I was just thinking.”

“About what?” He turns to her, his eyes tired.

“Don’t worry about it.” She touches his forehead and his eyes close. He is asleep before he can complain.

It’s as if they’ve summoned her. When she hears a knock on the door an hour later, Scully expects the mailman, even Skinner, but not Teena Mulder. Both women are surprised to see each other. Scully holds the door, closes it just a little bit, not ready to let her intrude.

“I’m here to see my son.” No hello, nothing. The anger Scully has suppressed ever since Mrs. Mulder checked her son out of the hospital bubbles to the surface.

“He’s sleeping.”

“I won’t keep him long. I just want to see him and make sure he’s all right.”

“You didn’t care much about his well-being when you checked him out of the hospital.” The older woman takes a step back. Scully has never really looked at her eyes. They’re just like Mulder’s. The same coloring, the same surpressed pain. The realization takes the sting out of her rage.

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t. He could have died. He was sick, Mrs. Mulder and you just-”

“Do you think I wanted any of this?” Her voice is quiet; how often has she yelled and cried before she decided that no one heard her anyway, no matter how loud she was? “I love my son. He’s all I- he’s my son. I didn’t have a choice.”

Scully thinks of what Mulder told her earlier; how they used to play board games as a family. The Mulders were a family once. She can’t picture Teena Mulder as someone who ever coddled her children, who kissed and smiled at them. Loved them.

“He’s sleeping. He needs his rest.”

“Ms. Scully, please.”

“You didn’t even call me back.” Mulder’s mother seems to shrink before her eyes. But she needs to say this. “I called you several times and you just- I can’t let you see him, not today.”

“And who are you to decide this?” Something flickers in her eyes. A spark of something. She said she had no choice; now or ever. But there’s always a choice and Teena Mulder has never once decided her son was more important than the status quo.

“I’m his doctor,” Scully says with authority.

“Let me in,” she takes a step forward, “please. I just want to see him. I won’t wake him. I just want to know he is fine.” She wants to send her away. Close the door right in front of her. But she can’t. She thinks of Mulder. Of the way his face softens sometimes when he talks of his mother. He loves her. In spite of everything, he loves his mother.

She opens the door and Mrs. Mulder steps inside. She waits, glances at Scully. She either doesn’t know the way to her son’s bedroom, or she doesn’t dare go alone. Both women are silent, standing next to each other. Mulder is fast asleep, looking peaceful.

“His head… is there going to be lasting damage?”

“No. He was very, very lucky.”

“I asked him not to hurt him,” Mrs. Mulder mumbles as if she were alone, as if all her emotions were breaking out at once. “He said he would never hurt him, never. He said he’d help him.” Scully doesn’t need to ask who ‘he’ is. Mulder moves in his sleep, his arm twitching.

“You should leave now.” This time there is no argument. Scully takes her to the door. Before she leaves, Teena Mulder turns to her, clutching her purse. She looks older than she did twenty minutes ago.

“A boy always needs his mother. Thank you for letting me see him.”

“He needed you when he was in the hospital,” Scully says. “He needed you when his sister disappeared and he blamed himself.”

“I’m glad he has you,” Teena Mulder goes on as if Scully had never said anything. “He mentions you every time he calls. Don’t tell him I came by. I’ll call him. Goodbye, Ms. Scully.”

“Goodbye,” she replies, baffled. She watches his mother walk down the hallway. An elegant woman with expensive clothes, perfect hair she must get done professionally regularly. A guilty woman with a past, with burdens on her back and consciousness no one will ever know or see. Scully closes the door quietly, taking a deep breath.

“Cold,” Mulder complains when she returns to the bedroom and lies back down.

“You’re cold?” She touches his forehead, checking his temperature.

“Always cold without you.”

“I’m here, Mulder. I’m here.” She holds him and he sleeps. She drifts off, too, dreaming of board games and Teena Mulder. A younger version of the woman, a genuine smile on her face, calling for her children. Calling in vein. Her face ages, breaks apart, and becomes a stony mask. Scully wakes with a start and there’s Mulder, eyeing her curiously.

“Bad dream?”

“Tell me another story from your childhood, Mulder.”

“One time my mom and I -” and Scully just listens to his tales, thinks of his mother, the woman she once was. A woman who loved her children.


End file.
